


The Sins You've Ascribed Me (Let Me Atone)

by AuroraKant



Series: Winter Whumperland [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Begging, Collars, Crying, Dick Grayson is having a Very Bad Time, Evil Roland Desmond, Gen, Humiliation, Hurt Dick Grayson, Mind Break, No Smut, forced stripping, given as a gift, no beta we die like robins, restrains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28092549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/pseuds/AuroraKant
Summary: For a moment… for a moment it felt great, all the anger finally breaking free, all the desperation making Dick fly – and then Blockbuster’s fist connected with Dick’s chest, sending him flying across the room.Dick always forgot how strong Desmond was.“Now, will you stop, you pesky brat?”Or: Dick gets caught by some Blüdhaven scum - and they are rather quick to decide just whom they want to gift Nightwing to.
Relationships: Roland Desmond & Dick Grayson
Series: Winter Whumperland [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053023
Comments: 16
Kudos: 39





	The Sins You've Ascribed Me (Let Me Atone)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!   
> Read The Tags!  
> Now: Thank you for clicking on this fic! I hope you are going to enjoy it!
> 
> **Comments, Kudos and Bookmarks make me reeaaaaally happy! <3**

The world was blurry when Dick forced his eyes open. Blurry and shifting and all too colorful. People were standing in front of him, surrounding him, but their bodies were out of focus and their voices pure noise grating on Dick’s nerves.

He hated concussions.

He hated the loss of control that came from a hard hit on the head, and he hated the feeling of falling that haunted him, the floor no longer as solid as it was supposed to be. But most of all… Dick hated the confusion.

Something was going on, and it was probably bad.

It was always bad.

You didn’t have to be a genius to figure that one out, and Dick prided himself on being pretty clever. Not that being intelligent helped him right now – a good nap and some noise-cancelling headphones would help him, but this? This only made his headache worse.

He struggled to sit up, only to find that his limbs had been restrained in iron cuffs. Dick pulled and twisted, but it was impossible to break free from the restains. Especially in his state. What else could he try? And, no, he wouldn’t sleep, no matter how strongly his body craved unconsciousness. No matter how heavy his eyes grew. 

Dick was running his hands over the cuffs binding his legs, when the voices surrounding him stopped. And turned their focus onto him. This was bad. Dick was sure of it. It was always bad.

“Hi? Fancy seeing you here?”

His words were slurring together, his tongue not cooperating, as he attempted to vex his captors. It would be easier if Dick could remember why he was here… but everything after leaving for patrol earlier that night was a black hole in the vortex called memories. He had no idea who these people were and what they wanted.

All he knew was that his head pulsed with every beat of his heart and that they had captured him.

Him. _Nightwing_.

What a drag.

“Seems as if the princess is awake again. Now, what shall we do next?”

“Let me go?”

As expected, his quippy answer was met with stony silence. Tough crowd. Or maybe they hadn’t understood him because of the slurring… maybe he should try again?

“Let me go!”

“Silent!”

A fist connected with the side of his head, and Dick went down. He hadn’t even seen it coming. The world blurred together, and this time Dick had little hope to make sense of it. His stomach lurched, his chest heaved, and he was spilling sick all over himself and the floor.

His head hurt so badly; he couldn’t even really care about it.

“Brat! Look at the mess he made – Hey? Do you think old Desmond would be happy to see Nightwing again?”

 _No_.

No… everyone but Blockbuster.

But Dick’s tongue was lead, and his body numb… he didn’t even notice when they picked him up – the world already turning black around him. The abyss swallowed him, the darkness tainted by his fear.

He woke up – that was the first surprise.

He woke up in a bed, with only the faintest traces of pain echoing through his head – that was the second surprise.

The third surprise – because, of course, there were always three – was the fact that he was dressed. His Nightwing suit intact, the mask still firmly placed on top of his nose. The sick had been cleaned from his body, not even a trace of bodily fluid left.

Dick would be grateful if wasn’t this suspicious.

Waking up with everything intact usually meant horrible, horrible things.

After a sweeping glance through the room – cell – Dick could say… well, he could say that he was in trouble. He was laying on a cot, in a white room, with white walls, with a white ceiling… and nothing else. Well, there was a door, of course, but Dick didn’t have to get up to know that it would be impossible to break the lock from the inside of this room. And… yeah, Dick’s hand patted over his suit, whoever caught him and brought him here had taken all of his equipment. No lock pick or smoke bomb left.

The faint echo of a headache made it hard for Dick to recall exactly what had happened, but Dick thought he could remember a goon hitting him from behind. And promises of being… given to someone?

God, Dick really hated concussions – and judging by the faint déjà vu haunting him, it wasn’t the first time Dick was thinking this particular sentiment.

There were no cameras visible, but Dick knew better than to assume that that meant that he was alone. No, it was always better to be safe than sorry – one of Batman’s big rules.

“Hey! Hey, kidnappers! I am awake! Look at me! Tell me what you want! I am bored!”

Maybe it wasn’t subtle, what Dick was doing just now, but the white walls were ugly, and Dick needed answers. And a toilet. The room didn’t offer either of those things.

The silence continued after Dick had stopped his joyful exclamation, but Dick didn’t let that deter him. He would have to give his enemies some time to react.

And he didn’t have to wait long.

The distant sound of footsteps coming closer echoed through the room, and Dick immediately stood up. He didn’t want to be caught unaware – standing was better than laying down. For a few precious seconds the world swam around him, and then Dick’s superior sense of balance returned to him.

The sensation of the world swaying, the floor falling away, would always make Dick queasy, Dick had come to accept that a long time ago. Some traumas were just never meant to leave you completely – some just stayed, visible in the small things.

With his footing secured, Dick did his best to return his attention to the present. It wouldn’t help his situation should he get lost in the memories of day’s past. It wouldn’t help Nightwing, if he let Dick Grayson’s fears control him.

The door to the room opened with a bang, and through stepped a figure Dick had nightmares about.

No.

Not him.

It was Blockbuster – Roland Desmond – who stood in the threshold of Dick’s cell. The man filled the tiny doorway completely, not even a small gap visible. 

Now that Dick was facing the man, a distant memory came back to him. The goons had decided to give him to Blockbuster. They had made that choice. They had talked about it.

Fuck.

Whatever Dick had planned, just vanished from his mind, faced with the ugly mug of the man trying to destroy his life. This guy was the reason Haly’s Circus had burned down. This man was the reason Dick was being eaten alive my shame and guilt and hurt.

His heart was a mess of panic and fear, but in the end, it was anger that won. It was anger that made Dick jump forward, fists raised and muscles tense. He fainted and kicked, and when Desmond raised an arm, Dick evaded it easily, jumping into a handspring.

For a moment… for a moment it felt great, all the anger finally breaking free, all the desperation making Dick fly – and then Blockbuster’s fist connected with Dick’s chest, sending him flying across the room.

Dick always forgot how strong Desmond was.

Before he had a chance to stand back up again, Blockbuster was filling his entire field of vision, the giant man blocking out the light from the single bulb in the middle of the cell.

“Now, will you stop, you pesky brat?”

“Never.”

Dick launched another attack, a sweeping kick, but Blockbuster’s knee didn’t buckle when the full power of Nightwing hit him – Blockbuster didn’t even react. It hurt Dick’s pride to see the indifference, the same kick aimed at his knee probably permanently maiming him, but it wasn’t his pride he was worrying about – it was his life.

Blockbuster laughed when Dick struggled to stand up.

It was a frightening sound. A shiver was running down Dick’s spine, fear making him sweat.

This was a shit situation and Dick had no idea what to do about it.

And it seemed as if Blockbuster wasn’t in the mood to let him figure it out. Before Dick could start another maneuver, Desmond moved. How a man so big could be so fast, Dick would never understand. He barely managed to evade the fist coming at him from the left, a surprised yelp escaping him, when a hand closed around his neck from the right.

Dick’s throat muscles seized in an attempt to protect himself, and cold panic encased his heart. Fuck. Shit. This was bad… Desperately Dick clawed at the hand holding his neck, his eyes nervously dancing through the room.

Desmond was calm, his stance never wavering, even as Dick kicked him again and again and again, his oxygen slowly running out. His kicks became weaker, his hands falling useless to his side, and Dick wanted to scream – but he couldn’t.

Instead, he was forced to watch as the world began to blur around him, as his chest shuddered and begged under the strain of strangulation. Black dots danced through his vision, pain alight in his throat and head…

Where his lips turning blue already? Where his eyes tearing up?

It was hard to tell, with the world growing distant and his flesh growing numb.

Dick didn’t feel his body hitting the floor, but when he blinked it were Blockbuster’s shoes that were swimming in and out of focus in front of his face. It took him a couple of minutes to regain his bearings, blood rushing in his ears, every breath painful.

When he raised his gaze, Desmond was smiling. Dick didn’t like it at all.

“You killed my mother, Nightwing. I will make you pay – I planned on destroying everything you hold dear. I already set that plan in motion, didn’t I? That circus burned so well…”

“Fuck you…”

Dick sounded as if he had garbled stones, and his throat contracted painfully around the syllables he managed to force out. It hurt – but Dick wouldn’t bow to Blockbuster. Not now. Not yet.

“Language! But then again, what else should I expect from an animal like you… killing innocent bystanders, murdering civilians… isn’t that right, Nightwing? Or should I say Richard Grayson?”

On a logical level Dick had known that his secret identity had been compromised, that Blockbuster had figured out his ID… and yet it sent another shockwave crashing down on him, hearing Desmond utter his name. Nightwing was his public persona, Nightwing protected him in situations like these… but Dick Grayson? Dick Grayson was weak. Human.

Dick Grayson could be hurt.

“What do you want?”

It was Nightwing, who glared at Blockbuster. It was Nightwing, who defied the man who held Dick’s life in his hands. Maybe because it was easier to be a hero than a man, maybe because otherwise Dick wasn’t sure if he could survive.

“I want you to pay – and now that I have you here… I am no longer going to use others to hurt you.”

“What? So, you’ll kill me? Congrats on the creativity – _not_ ”

“No” – Blockbuster was smiling, and nausea bubbled in Dick’s stomach – “No, killing you would be too easy. Too nice. I am going to break you.”

Fear. Panic. Pain.

Dick pressed the emotions choking him down, until Nightwing could control his facial expressions again. He couldn’t let his panic show, he couldn’t break in the face of danger. Blockbuster didn’t deserve to see Dick cry, didn’t deserve his inner most workings being laid bare.

“Many have tried – no one has succeeded yet.”

“Well, no other man has been me. And let me tell you something: I have found a wonderful way to break men like you… you are all so prideful, with your costumes and your Justice League friends… in Blüdhaven we take care of pests like you in our own way. And I found humiliation to work quite wonderfully in situations like these.”

“What?”

Dick had to ask… he must have misunderstood something, right? It didn’t make sense… But before Dick could do anything, Blockbuster’s voice echoed through the cell:

“Strip him – and bring him to cell 4. We might have to speed some things up.”

Dick tried to fight the goons entering the room – he failed. He lost. He got defeated.

Cell 4 was hell.

Or something Dick was pretty sure came frighteningly close.

After the goons had forcefully stripped him, Desmond had gleefully closed a thick iron collar around Dick’s neck. What followed was…

The cell was just as white as the one Dick had been in before, but instead of a cod and nothing else, iron shackles had awaited Dick. They had forced him into a kneeling position, making it impossible for him to protect his manhood from view.

All he could do was cower on the floor, naked, shivers racking down his spine.

He felt like a dog, defiled like this, and Blockbuster’s comments made sure Dick knew it was intentional. The man in question loved to remind Dick of his mother’s untimely demise, loved to tell Dick that this was his payment, his atonement.

But the position and the lack of clothing weren’t the only thing making cell 4 horrible – no, it was the humiliation Blockbuster had promised him. And, God, the crime lord had delivered.

The collar alone would have made Dick’s skin itch and his insides burn, but Desmond had never been easy to satisfy. The nakedness was an obvious added layer of shame, but maybe Dick could have dealt with that, if it wasn’t for… if it hadn’t been…

Blockbuster made him beg.

For everything.

For water. Food. The ability to relief himself.

He called it Nightwing’s Lost Prayers For A Foul Soul but all it did was make Dick feel dirty.

And yet… after Desmond had kept to his word, and Dick had soiled himself… after Dick had almost passed out from thirst and hunger… wasn’t it better if he begged? Wasn’t it better to survive than to die?

Dick wasn’t so sure – and yet he couldn’t let himself die. Couldn’t dare Blockbuster to let him waste away.

Instead, Dick kneeled in cell 4, naked as the day he was born, silent tears running down his face, and begged:

“Please… please, give me some water. I am sorry, okay? I just… I just need some water… please. I beg of you…”

His throat was aching, the swelling of Blockbuster choking him long gone. Instead it was thirst that made him cower – and pride that made him wait long enough for it to hurt. Blockbuster was stone-faced in front of him.

Not that Dick dared to look at the man directly. Too many backhands had bruised his face those first few days, for him to continuously defy the order to look away. He told himself it was to avoid punishment and to keep his strength, but with each day that got harder to believe.

He could feel the humiliation gnawn on his bones, could feel the shame erode his soul.

Dick felt broken, even if he wasn’t. Yet.

“Don’t you want to atone, boy?”

Dick didn’t care – he only wanted something to drink. He only wanted to escape and be free.

“Yes… of course… yes, please, let me atone…”

Another part of his heart got chipped away, another corner of his soul was breaking and falling and turning into dust.

“Call me Sir, then. For I am the judge to your atonement.”

More tears dripped down Dick’s cheeks, washing what was left of his pride away. They carried the last bit of self-worth Dick had hidden, and they left him dry – and begging:

“Yes, Sir. Please… please can I have some water, Sir. Give me some water, please, Sir. Just… just some water…”

“Good boy”

Dick just wanted to forget.

Dick just wanted to be free.

He got neither.


End file.
